


Mockery Made

by Gabrielle



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-03
Updated: 2015-01-03
Packaged: 2018-03-05 03:48:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3104477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gabrielle/pseuds/Gabrielle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>*Set in Season 2* She's the Slayer and she knows who she is. Angelus doesn't know anything. He doesn't know anything at all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mockery Made

**Author's Note:**

  * For [angelus2hot](https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelus2hot/gifts).



  
Mockery Made  
  
  
  
“I bet you wonder what it would have been like.”  
  
The voice startles her and Buffy’s head whips around, scanning the darkness, seeing nothing but headstones and trees. She knows there’s someone out there, though, and she knows who it is – the one vampire who’s always been able to get through her defenses. “What do you mean?” She tries to sound flip, careless, to be the Slayer and not the girl. It’s hard. It’s so hard.  
  
“You know… what it would have been like if it had been me fucking you instead of him.”  
  
She can’t help it; she winces at the sound of the word ‘fucking.’ That’s not what it was. It was nothing like that. She and Angel… “We made love,” she says, unable to stop herself, “You could never understand.”  
  
Why had she said that? Because his response is predictable: He laughs. It’s a deep, throaty laugh and it’s the kind of laugh that makes you feel small and worthless… well, it does if you’re not Buffy. It doesn’t hurt Buffy at all. Not. One. Little. Bit. “I can almost hear that choir of pretty little birdies right now,” and those words take her back to Angel’s apartment… before she’d realized what happened to him. No, that doesn’t hurt either.   
  
She straightens, all sharp angles and Slayer senses now, her hand curled around her stake like it’s an extension of her. “Why don’t we just skip the small talk and get to the part where I kill you?”  
  
There’s that chuckle again. She hates him. She hates him as much as she loved Angel. “You can’t kill me, not as long as I look like him.”  
  
“Try me.”  
  
“Already did, remember? You walked away before the big finish… kinda the same way you did with Angel. Not like you stuck around and waited for him to come back for another go. Admit it, Buff. It was boring.”  
  
“It was…” She stops herself before she can open a vein and let him drink.  
  
“What? Beautiful? Sweet? Every girl’s fantasy?” He’s laughing and she’s sure that if he’d just come out where she could see him, now she’d be more than able to ram her stake right through his heart.   
  
But he doesn’t come out. Instead, he attacks from the shadows. “You’re not like that, Buffy. You’re not some simpering little schoolgirl. You’re more like me than you want to admit. There’s something in you that craves the darkness. He didn’t see it, but I do. He made sweet, gentle love to a teenager. Me? I’d fuck _you_ – hard, fast, rough, deep… and you’d beg for more.” Her eyes glaze and she can’t help but imagine exactly what he’s describing. “I’d hurt you, make you scream, teach you about pain and pleasure and take you where there’s no difference between them and you’d do anything, _anything_ just to keep me inside you. You’d watch me kill – strangers, your friends, it wouldn’t matter, just as long as I kept taking you to that place no one else ever could.”  
  
Please let him not be able to see that she’s shivering now. He won’t know that it’s because it’s cold out here. He’ll think she’s afraid he’s right, think she wants a taste… But she doesn’t. She knows who she is and what she wants and he doesn’t know anything.  
  
“Admit it. That’s what you were looking for when you gave yourself to what you _thought_ was a vampire.”  
  
“You’re wrong.”  
  
There’s that chuckle again. “Am I?”  
  
“You’re wrong!” she yells.   
  
This time, there’s no answer, no sound.  
  
He’s gone.  
  
“You’re wrong!” she yells again, louder this time, because it’s true. It’s true. It has to be true.  
  
Tonight her dreams mock her like mirrors.  
  
He’s not gone, not at all.  
  
  
  
The End.


End file.
